ce cleared: "Ting I a tory," said he.

"Sing thee a story, baby? Well, after all, why not? And wilt thou sit o'
my knee and hear it?"

"Yea."

"Then I must e'en doff this breastplate, 'Tis too hard for thy soft
cheek. So. And now I must doff this bristly cilice; they would prick thy
tender skin, perhaps make it bleed, as they have me, I see. So. And now
I put on my best pelisse, in honour of thy worshipful visit. See how
soft and warm it is; bless the good soul that sent it; and now I sit
me down; so. And I take thee on my left knee, and put my arm under thy
little head; so, And then the psaltery, and play a little tune; so, not
too loud."

"I ikes dat."

"I am right glad on't. Now list the story."

He chanted a child's story in a sort of recitative, singing a little
moral refrain now and then. The boy listened with rapture.

"I ikes oo," said he, "Ot is oo? is oo a man?"

"Ay, little heart, and a great sinner to boot."

"I ikes great tingers. Ting one other tory."

Story No. 2 was Chanted.

"I ubbs oo," cried the child impetuously, "Ot caft(3) is oo?"

"I am a hermit, love."

"I ubbs vermins. Ting other one."

But during this final performance, Nature suddenly held out her leaden
sceptre over the youthful eyelids. "I is not eepy," whined he very
faintly, and succumbed.

Clement laid down his psaltery softly and began to rock his new treasure
in his arms, and to crone over him a little lullaby well known in
Tergou, with which his own mother had often sent him off.

And the child sank into a profound sleep upon his arm. And he stopped
croning and gazed on him with infinite tenderness, yet sadness; for at
that moment he could not help thinking what might have been but for a
piece of paper with a lie in it.

He sighed deeply.

The next moment the moonlight burst into his cell, and with it, and in
it, and almost as swift as it, Margaret Brandt was down at his knee with
a timorous hand upon his shoulder.

"GERARD, YOU DO NOT REJECT US, YOU CANNOT."

(1) More than one hermit had received a present of this
kind.

(2) Query, "looking glass."

(3) Craft. He means trade or profession.

CHAPTER XCV

The startled hermit glared from his nurseling to Margaret, and from
her to him, in amazement, equalled only by his agitation at her so
unexpected return. The child lay asleep on his left arm, and she was
at his right knee; no longer the pale, scared, panting girl he had
overpowe